


Gladio and Ignis: Fire

by ValueVices



Series: Sunshine on the Open Road [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Camping, Gen, RIP Gladio's dad, whoops there's an Emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 03:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18957130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValueVices/pseuds/ValueVices
Summary: Ramuh's trial is making Gladio's life difficult enough without Iggy prying into his feelings about his dead father.





	Gladio and Ignis: Fire

“Damn it,” muttered Gladio, as for the dozenth time, the fire he was trying to light sputtered out, the wood too wet to catch flame even though it was shielded by the branches of the tree above. It had been storming in Duscae for nearly a week already as they hoofed it around the back roads on the backs of chocobos, since that fucking snake of a chancellor stole their car and nearly got them killed.

Mostly Noctis, and that was what really pissed him off. Like it wasn’t hard enough already protecting Noct from his idiot self—Gladio didn’t need a literal _god_ ‘testing’ him with fists the size of...shit, he didn’t know. Something really big. Comparisons kind of lost their meaning when you were talking about the thing that usually was the basis for one.

So the lot of them were cold, wet, and miserable as they camped out yet again in the middle of goddamn nowhere, looking for the... rune stones, or whatever, Ramuh wanted Noct to find. Which was an improvement over the Archaean’s trial, or so Gladio had thought for the first while, but even he was getting sick of camping out. Even  _Iggy_ was getting sick of it.

He was sitting in his chair right now, watching Gladio struggle with the fire. Or at least he had been, because now whatever he was looking at seemed a hundred miles away. Gladio sat back on his heels,  pushing wet hair out of his face. “Hey Iggy,” he said. “ Gil for ‘em.”

Ignis blinked once, gaze focusing on Gladio, frowning. “What?”

“You look like you’re thinkin’ pretty hard over there. Careful your brain doesn’t short out.”

“Heaven knows you’d all be lost without it,” Iggy said irritably, then sighed. “I was thinking about the Empire.”

“Yeah?” said Gladio. “What about ‘em?”

“They slew the Archaean,” said Iggy. “A god. I greatly fear whatever else they might have in store for us all.”

“Hey, come on. We gave Titan a run for his money too,” said Gladio.

“Hardly. We only survived with the help of Chancellor Izunia.”

Even hearing his name pissed Gladio off. “That son of a bitch...he’ll get what’s coming to him soon. Next time I see  that bastard’s smirking face, it’s all over.” He cracked his knuckles.

“I doubt it will be so simple,” Iggy said. He frowned again. “...I don’t understand that man’s aims.”

“Makes two of us,” said Gladio. “All I know is, he’s bad news.”

“Yes,” said Iggy. “We must exercise caution if we encounter him again. He knew too much.”

Gladio grunted in agreement, making another half-hearted attempt to light the fire. Prompto and Noctis were out looking for dry firewood, but Gladio wasn’t holding out much hope for their success. “You wanna try?” he said to Iggy.

“I’m afraid I never had much call to learn how to light a campfire,” he said. “There’s little hope for us, if even you can’t manage it.”

Gladio shook his head. “Cold canned food tonight, huh?”

Iggy looked offended. “I would never—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’ll be salad or something. Noct’s still gonna flip.”

“I’ll have to devise some way to tempt him...” muttered Iggy, staring off into the distance again.

Gladio shrugged. “If he’s hungry, he’ll eat. Quit coddling him.”

Iggy sighed, pushing his glasses up. “Yes, I know. I just can’t help but worry. It’s been...a difficult journey.”

“I got a feeling it’s not gonna get much easier,” said Gladio. “The Empire sacking our city was bad enough, now the gods are screwing with us.” He reached out to re-configure the pile of wood in front of him, accidentally knocking the carefully made structure over as he removed a stick.

“Hmm,” said Iggy, watching him. “And how are you holding up, Gladio?”

Gladio looked up. “Uh, what?”

“Noct...isn’t the only one who has suffered losses.” Iggy spoke carefully, like he was afraid the words would break something.

“I’m doing great,” Gladio said irritably, glaring down at the fallen wood. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Gladio,” said Iggy, somewhat more sharply.

“Save it, Iggy. It’s your job to worry about Noct, not me.”

“This isn’t about my job,” said Iggy.

Gladio looked at him again. Iggy was sitting forward in his chair, expression intense. It was hard to look at him for long. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Gladio said eventually.

“Will you ever?” said Iggy.

“Look,” said Gladio, “It’s just...” he _didn’t_ want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to think about it.

His dad was dead.

It wasn’t like it was for Noctis. Everybody knew the king was dead. It was everywhere in the news, on the radio, in the papers, on TV. But for Clarus Amicitia, it just had to be assumed. The Shield protects the King; the King is dead, so the Shield has failed. But he can’t imagine it. His dad was the strongest person he knew, bar maybe Cor. How could he have failed? Even in the face of hundreds of magitek troopers, how could he have...how come he couldn’t...

He could still feel Iggy’s eyes on him. “He was a good man,” he said softly. “Your father.”

Gladio shook his head. “Am I just supposed to believe that...that he wasn’t good _enough_?” he said, hating how rough his voice sounded.

“I don’t think that was the case,” said Iggy. “I rather suspect he knew what was coming. And the king, as well.”

“Then why the hell didn’t he...he could have fucking _said_ something!” Gladio punched the ground in front of him, solid rock. It hurt. He wanted it to.

“...Would you still have left?”

His reply was immediate. “Hell no.”

“I suppose that’s why they didn’t,” said Iggy. “Your father died honourably. He protected the people. He defended his king.”

“He went out just the way he always wanted,” said Gladio, unable to keep a slight bitterness from his voice.

Iggy didn’t speak for a moment. “He made sure Iris escaped,” he said, after a while.

Gladio let out a short, humourless laugh. “...When I heard the Niffs had taken the city, that the king was dead, for a second, I thought maybe—he wasn’t—“ he cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head.

“Ah,” said Iggy quietly. “I see. ...I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t even make the news,” said Gladio. It was like he suddenly couldn’t stop talking. These things that he’d buried, tamped down on, sworn he’d never put words to. He laughed again, and it came out all wrong, broken around the edges. “I never beat him in a sparring match.”

Iggy was watching him, expression carefully impassive. Gladio wished he was wearing his sympathy on his face so Gladio could actually do something about it—probably something violent, but Iggy knew better than that. “He would be proud of you, Gladio,” he said. “He always was.”

And that was the breaking point, when it all was suddenly too much, and no, his eyes weren’t stinging, he refused to acknowledge it. “I gotta go,” he said, standing up abruptly. “Train. Or something.”

Iggy was frowning, looking as though he was about to stand as well, but then he simply nodded. “Don’t go far,” he said.

Gladio didn’t reply, as he strode from the camp. The rain felt good on his face. He could even pretend that some of it wasn’t warm.

He walked until he found a clearing big enough to swing his sword, and had summoned it in a flash of blue before he even stopped moving. Then he lifted it over his shoulder, squaring his feet, and swung. Then again. And again. Practice swings, the kind he’d done hundreds and _thousands_ of before, his dad standing and watching him, correcting his form, never offering more praise than a slight nod of his head. The kind of swings he did as exercise, as a warm-up, something mindless and repetitive that he didn’t need to think _for_ and he didn’t need to think _about._ Because that’s what he needed. Not to think.

He lifted the sword. He thought about the last time he’d spoken to his father; he couldn’t remember the last words he’d said. He swung. The thought was banished. He lifted the sword. He thought about Iris in Lestallum, smiling for Noct and then crying in Gladio’s arms that night. He swung. The thought was banished.

At two hundred and fifty swings, he switched hands. At four hundred and forty, he wasn’t thinking anymore. Then finally, at five hundred and seventy six, he heard something: a voice in the distance.

“Gladio? Gladiooo! Hey! Are you around?”

He lowered his sword. Took in his surroundings, for the first time in...he didn’t know how long. It was starting to get dark.

The voice was getting closer. “Hey, if you’re out here, say something? I get it if you wanna get some ‘alone time’ or whatever, but it’d be kinda good to know if you’re not, y’know, dead!”

That was definitely Prompto. Gladio turned towards the sound, letting his sword vanish. “I’m over here,” he called.

He heard the sound of running feet before Prompto suddenly skidded into the clearing. “There you are,” he said, and seemed about to continue before he slipped on a patch of mud, arms flailing wildly. “Whoa!"

Gladio caught him before he went face-first in the dirt, easily pulling him back to his feet. Prompto grinned at him.

“Thanks, big guy. Oh, and, uh, here.” He held out something, and Gladio took it. It was an umbrella.

He looked at it, and then at Prompto, who was shifting from foot to foot in his bright yellow rain jacket. “I’m already soaking wet,” he pointed out.

Prompto shrugged. “Yeah...Ignis made me promise to give it to you, though.” He peered closely at Gladio’s face. “Uh...did you guys have a fight or something? He seemed kinda worried.”

Gladio looked at the umbrella again, then shook his head, resigned. Of course he did. Of all the stupid things... “Nope,” he said, and then opened it, a shield springing up between himself and the sky. Prompto waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t bother. He just started walking. “Let’s get back to camp.”

“Seriously? Come on, I came all the way out here! I could’ve just sat by the fire and got warm, but no, you decided to wander off. Hey, are you listening to me?”

Gladio stopped suddenly, and Prompto nearly walked into his back. “A fire?” he said. “He got it going?”

“Yeah...me and Noct, we found some wood that wasn’t completely soaked through, and when we brought it back Ignis figured out how to start it. It took a while, but we’ll be keeping toasty tonight!”

“Huh,” said Gladio. “That’s good.”

Prompto chattered at him all the way back to the Haven. Gladio only half-listened, preoccupied with his own thoughts. He felt...better. Less like the weight on his shoulders was going to crush him. He’d thought that if he’d opened the box he’d been keeping his feelings inside, he’d never get it closed again. But Iggy’d pried it open, and...it was fine. He was fine. Not _good,_ but fine.

And fine was good enough.

Gladio didn’t really realize how cold he was until he saw the smoke snaking up from the campfire, into the sky—a good, roaring blaze, by the looks of it. The rest of the scene came into view before long; the kettle was hung over the fire, steam rising from the spout, and close by, underneath the tarp Gladio had set up earlier, Noct was playing with his phone in his chair, and Iggy was standing, writing something in his recipe book. None of his cooking stuff was out, despite the time, and Gladio saw why a moment later: on the table between them, there were four packages of cup noodles sitting in a row.

“I found him!” called Prompto, running ahead.

Noct and Iggy looked up, Noct looking bored, and Iggy...he met Gladio’s gaze, then he smiled. “Welcome back,” he said. “The water’s nearly boiled.”

Gladio smiled back, just slightly.

Prompto looked between the two of them, as if he was trying to figure something out. Noct’s attention had already slid back to his phone, after issuing a half-hearted wave.

Gladio ignored both of them, folding up the umbrella as he stepped under the tarp, and throwing an arm over Iggy’s shoulders. “Good timing, huh?” he said, and then more quietly, “Thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “Although you getting my shirt wet is certainly not.”

Gladio laughed. It felt good to laugh. “Too bad,” he said. “Misery loves company.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gladio may be the embodiment of toxic masculinity, but I still appreciate him.
> 
> Also I'm pretty sure these two are dating, but that's neither here nor there.


End file.
